


I Will Be Here

by sonofnjobu



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, PTSD, violent tendancies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofnjobu/pseuds/sonofnjobu
Summary: Erik is dealing with some demons that manifest in the forms of PTSD and depression. It begins to affect his relationship with you, his neighbor.





	I Will Be Here

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here’s a super long story that just dumped out of my head. Angsty angsty angsty. Reader is Black.
> 
> CW: Erik is dealing with some demons that manifest in the forms of PTSD and depression. It’s not the main focus, but it comes up. 
> 
> A/N: I’m NOT romanticizing these issues. You cannot just fix someone and I don’t encourage you to try. If you enjoy my writing, please comment.

Erik Stevens woke up screaming. Drenched in sweat and chest heaving, he struggled to free himself from the sticky sheets that ensnared him. He finally got a good grip on a corner and ripped the offending cotton away, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

He didn’t reach to turn on the light. Whoever was attacking him wasn’t in the room, just lurking in the back of his mind waiting to revisit him in his sleep. It was the one place he wasn’t on guard.

Panic slowly subsided and loneliness moved back in. This was better. Loneliness was familiar. Loneliness was comfortable. Comfortable was all he could really ask for.

He blinked rapidly at the clock on his night stand. 0300 hours. This was the most sleep he’s gotten this week before waking up in fight or flight mode.

“Fuck,” Erik hissed. He dragged his hand over his face and moved towards the kitchen. His apartment was small and sparse. He didn’t like to get attached to things. He felt around for the lone cup on the counter and filled it at the sink. His hand was still shaking a bit as he raised the water to his lips.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He paused. If he was quiet, whoever it was would simply go away.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Who is it?” Erik barked. He pulled a gun from the kitchen drawer. He didn’t need to feel for it. He knew exactly where it was.

“Y/N… your neighbor!” called a muffled voice. Erik lined himself up with the door frame, pistol just out of sight, and opened the door.

“Your new neighbor,” you clarified. You stared up at him from the brightly lit hallway. His broad chest shown with sweat, keloid scars mapping out his muscles. His grey sweatpants hung loosely on his hips. He was beautiful, and you looked a damn mess. You’d just run over here without regards for the t-shirt and boy shorts you slept it. You had only managed to pull off your bonnet right before he opened the door.

“What do you want?”

“Well I heard screaming and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you started.

“So you always run towards the screaming?” he scoffed. “You really are new here.”

You fought the urge to purse your lips. If you always ran towards the screaming, he’d have met you a hell of a lot earlier… screaming every damn night at all hours. He must have you fucked up.

“Well, if you need anything I’m right down the hall. You can come over any time.”

“Nah, we good, ma,” he interrupted you again, this time closing the door in your face. You glared at the wood for a moment before padding back to your apartment. ‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ you reminded yourself.

—

Over 150 people lived in this apartment building but it felt like Erik never saw anybody but you. Any time he went out to get the mail, there you were. Waiting at the bus stop, there you were. Down in the basement doing laundry, there you were. He could hear your alarm in the morning through the walls, hear you sing Lizzo’s “Good as Hell” in the shower, hear the jingle of your keys when you returned home at 5:30 every day.

And you were always smiling. What the hell does this bitch have to be so happy about all the time? You were always greeting him as if you didn’t hear his screams at night. You hadn’t spoken of it since that first night. It was always, “Hey, Erik!”

“What’s good, Erik?”

“How’s your day going, Erik?”

You were honestly the worst neighbor he had ever had. Mad annoying. Cute, but annoying.

He pushed you from his mind. Neighbors didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to be here much longer. Erik sat hunched over his coffee table, his necklace swinging above his father’s journals. Blueprints and papers decorate the living room floor. Books on Wakanda and African artifacts lay open to dog eared pages, spines cracked in submission. He’d been planning for years. He was almost ready.

He was deep in his musings when his head snapped up and his nostrils flared. Erik suddenly found himself knocking on your door, plans momentarily abandoned. You said if he ever needed anything…

“Come in!” you called.

“So you just leavin your door unlocked, huh?” Erik chastised you, entering your apartment with caution. “Any crazy nigga could just walk in here.”

“Apparently,” you agree. You hadn’t even turned to look at him. All of your attention was on the three pots on the stove. The air was warm with steam, and memories of childhood swirled in Erik’s nostrils. He smelled okra and oxtails. Just like his dad used to make. He sidled up behind you and watched almost entranced as you deposited a ball of fufu on to a plate.

“Don’t tell me you’re making all this food for little ole you.”

“There are many things I am, Erik Stevens, and little is not one of them,” you quip as you began to stir the stew. Erik took a step back to watch how you jiggle a bit while you stir and found himself agreeing with you.

“You like it thick?” you ask. He bites his lip and nods in agreement, suddenly preoccupied with your form. “Good, cause I think I let this cook down a little too long. Shit. Move!” Erik jumped back as you darted around the kitchen. He soon found himself sat roughly down in to a chair with a plate of steaming food in front of him.

“Eat,” you demanded.

“Y/N, you really aint gotta do all this. Trap a nigga in to a dinner date,” he smirked.

“Boy, you came to me. Just eat.”

He ripped off a piece of fufu and dragged it through the stew. He popped it in to his mouth and his eyes lit up. “Damn, Y/N! You really put your foot in this!” he exclaimed, already tearing off another piece of fufu. “It tastes like… like…”

“Like home,” you finished his sentence. You continued on about your mother’s recipes and how you firmly believe that food builds community.

Erik felt a familiar pang of longing in his chest as you rambled. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had a home cooked meal, nonetheless sat down and ate with another person. He banished the thought and put his front back up.

“You gone eat any of this, or nah? Cause a nigga could just take it off your hands if you can’t handle it.”

You sighed, reaching for some food before he could eat it all.

—

The two of you continued like that for a couple of weeks. Him mostly ignoring your chipper greetings in passing but conveniently showing up right around dinner time. Him scolding you for never locking your door and eventually installing a deadbolt. You pretending not to hear his screams at night, and resisting the urge to go over and comfort him.

There was something about you that Erik couldn’t quite place. Something that soothed the loneliness just a little. He wasn’t sure if it was the cooking or your persistence. He found himself drawn to you, and at your apartment more than he should be.

You never went to his. You hadn’t been back since the first night you met and he had slammed the door in your face.

You ran in to him again while tottering down the hallway, overwhelmed with grocery bags. Out of character, Erik offered to help. You eyed him skeptically as he relieved you of the weight.

“I gotchu, girl!” He grinned, his golden canines peaking above his lip. “If I’mma eat you out…” he grunted, shifting his grip on the bags.

You stopped abruptly, a sudden heat flushed your cheeks.

“… of house and home,” he continued, “I could at least carry some shit.”

You looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see the embarrassed look on your face. He headed to your apartment as your eyes fell on his open door. You moved towards it inquisitively and stepped over the threshold.

“My, my, my! Look who’s forgotten to lock THEIR door!” you laugh, feeling a sense of victory. It was short lived as you took in the space: sparse apart from piles of papers, books, and photographs. You bent down to pick up the parchment closest to your feet. It was some sort of blueprint for a museum maybe? You looked at it more closely, trying to make sense of the intricate lines marring its surface when a hand clamped around your wrist.

Erik whipped you around, raising your arm well above your head.

“The fuck you doing?”

His eyes were cold, nothing like the playful gleam he had only moments before.

“I… I was just looking… Erik, you’re hurting me,” you stammered as you attempted to pull your wrist from his grip.

“Get out,” Erik demanded. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. With surprising strength, he practically threw you in to the hallway.

You regained your balance and started back towards him. You wanted to explain to him that it wasn’t that big of a deal. That he was getting angry over nothing. He towered over you. His lips curled upwards in an animalistic sneer. “You think I’m playing with you, little girl? I mean that shit.”

He slammed the door in your face.

—

Erik hadn’t felt this alone in years. His apartment was deafeningly quiet and he was left only with the thoughts in his own head. The marriage of anger and revenge that had previously fueled him was eclipsed by crippling dejection. He was so behind on his mission. He couldn’t believe he had let himself get distracted by some stupid girl and her cooking.

You no longer acknowledged him when you crossed paths. He remained stony faced, seemingly unbothered. But there was hole in him now. Another one. That hole widened every time he heard you through the walls continuing to live your life as if he hadn’t even been there. He always pushed everyone away before they could leave him. This was easier, he tried to convince himself.

It didn’t work.

Four nights after your incident, Erik found himself perched on the edge of his bed, avoiding sleep. There was nothing restful about his nights. He was either tortured in his dreams with the playback of his sins, or tormented with loneliness in his waking hours. He just couldn’t take it anymore.

Despite his desperate blinking, tears welled up in the brim of his eyes. One tear escaped and cascaded down his cheek.

“Fuck,” Erik whispered. He stood up now, pacing around his room like a caged animal. His heart was racing and his chest was heaving.

“FUCK!”

His fist collided with the drywall of his bedroom. Blinding pain dissipated slowly to a moment of clarity.

You had said if he ever needed anything…

—

Knock Knock Knock

The sound caught you off guard. You pulled out one of your headphones to make sure you’d heard it right.

“Y/N,” Erik said through the door.

You scrambled off of the couch to peer through the peephole. Erik stood outside of your door, eyes turned down.

“What do you want?” you called through the barrier.

“I just… can I come in?” Erik asked, reaching for the door knob. It didn’t give under the weight of his hand. “Oh, now you lock your door?” He looked straight in to the peep hole, unable to see you but trying to look sincere.

“Yes I do now that someone decided to be violent with me!” you yelled, emboldened by the deadbolt. “What the fuck do you want?”

Erik leaned his head against the door and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

That was definitely a surprise. You never expected Erik Stevens to apologize.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. Not you…” he trailed off. “I understand if you don’t want to speak to me ever again. You’re right to be scared. I’m not okay. But I just needed you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I appreciate who you are.”

Your breath hitched and you took a step back from the door.

“You’re the only person in a long time who’s cared about me at all and I don’t know how to deal with that. I don’t know how to handle the fact that I care about you too. I’m sorry. I just need to say it. I can’t have another thing haunting me.”

It was silent for a moment.

“Please,” he uttered, not sure what he was asking for. Erik continued to lean against your door, unable to express himself any further.

Click.

You flipped the deadbolt and opened the door. You stared at him, taking in his haggard look and his bloodied hand. You cocked your head towards the kitchen in invitation. You reached for your first-aid kit. He followed.

In silence you ran his hand under cool water, careful to first pick out the pieces of drywall and drop them down the sink. You tenderly dabbed ointment on it and wrapped it up in gauze. When you’d finished you took a deep breath and looked up in to his weary face.

“I cannot fix you, Erik Stevens.”

You paused, still holding his hand.

“Whatever demons you’re battling with; I cannot fight for you. As much as I want to…”

Erik looked down at your joined hands. Unable to maintain eye contact with you.

“But I can be here.”

Erik exhaled in a quick burst, the tears threatening to form in his eyes again.

“You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to. I will be here.”


End file.
